Harlan Coben - Stay close

No.

It was time to move on. If Cassie-that would always be her name to him, not Megan-didn’t want to hear what he had to say, well, he’d just have to find a way to deal with that. But staying here, with the world around him falling apart, made no sense. It was too risky, and while he certainly had had no trouble finding ways to wreck his life over the years, he wasn’t overtly suicidal.

When Ray started for the stairs in Lucy’s hind leg, he heard a noise below. He stopped and waited.

Someone had opened the door.

“Cassie?”

“No, Ray.”

His heart deflated when he recognized the voice. It belonged to Detective Broome.

“How did you find me?” Ray asked.

“Your cell phone signal. It’s easy when someone leaves their phone on.”

“Oh. Right.”

“It’s over, Ray.”

He said nothing.

“Ray?”

“I hear you, Detective.”

“There’s no point in running. The place is surrounded.”

“Okay.”

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

“I’m here to arrest you, Ray. Do you understand?”

Not sure what to say to that, Ray settled for: “Yes, I understand.”

“Then do both of us a favor,” Broome said. “Make it easy and safe. Get down on your knees and put your hands on top of your head. I’ll cuff you and read your rights.”

At eight A.M. the next morning, Megan opened her eyes and felt a world of hurt. It had been a long night on so many levels-not the least of which had been the emotional toll of telling Dave the entire truth about her past-and now every part of her body was experiencing a fresh adventure in pain. The arm was the worst of it; it felt as though it’d been mangled by a tiger and then jammed into a blender set on pulverize. A blacksmith was mercilessly using her skull as an anvil. Her tongue and mouth had the dryness of both the Sahara and the worst hangover imaginable.

Megan opened her eyes slowly. Dave sat at the end of the bed, his head lowered into his hand. He, too, looked in pain, albeit not the throbbing kind. His hair stuck up in all different directions. He had, she surmised, stayed by her side all night.

She tried to remember what time she had finished talking-Dave had barely spoken-but couldn’t. She had talked past exhaustion, not so much falling asleep as passing out from the combination of weariness, pain, and morphine. If Dave had commented on her confession, she didn’t remember it.

Megan had never been so thirsty. When she reached for the cup of water on the nightstand, her entire body screamed in protest. She let out a small cry. Dave snapped his head up and said, “Let me get that for you.”

He moved to the nightstand and carefully lifted the glass toward her, easing the straw between her lips. She sipped greedily. The water was pure ambrosia. When she finished, Dave put the water back on the nightstand and sat next to her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Like I kissed a bus.”

He smiled and stroked her forehead. “Let me get the doctor.”

“Not yet.” His hand felt cool against her skin. She closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch. A tear ran down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why.

“I’ve been running through everything you told me,” Dave said. “I’m still trying to process.”

“I know. But talk to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him.

“It’s hard,” Dave said. “I mean, on the one hand, it doesn’t really matter, I guess, what you were in the past. Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Are your feelings for me a lie?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then what else matters? We all have pasts. We all have secrets. Or something.” He shifted in his seat. “That’s the one hand. That’s the part I get.”

“And the other hand?”

Dave shook his head. “I’m still processing.”

“Processing,” she said, “or judging?”

He looked confused. “I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

“If my secret past was that I’d been, I don’t know, a rich princess and a virgin before we met, do you think you’d have as much trouble processing?”

“You think I’m that shallow?”

“I’m just asking,” she said. “It’s a fair question.”

“And if I said, yes, that scenario would be easier to process?”

“I’d understand, I guess.”

Dave considered that. “Do you want to hear an odd truth?”

She waited.

“I never fully trusted you, Megan. No, wait, that’s not really true. What I mean is, I never really believed you. I trusted you. Implicitly. I made you my wife and I loved you and I know you loved me. We shared a life and a bed and had children together.” Dave swallowed hard, looked away, turned back to her. “I would trust you with my life. You know that.”

“I do.”

“And yet I didn’t always believe you. You can trust someone and know there is something else there. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Was it hard lying to me all those years?”

“Not just you. Everyone.”

“But mostly me.”

She didn’t argue.

“Was that hard?”

Megan considered that. “Not really, no.”

He sat back. “Wow, that’s honest.”

“The truth wasn’t really an option. I didn’t see any point in telling you about my past. The truth could only make things worse.”

“Had to be hard though, right? On some level.”

“I guess I got used to it.”

He nodded. “Part of me wants to know details because otherwise my imagination won’t let it go, you know what I mean?”

She nodded.

“But most of me knows it’s better to just let it go.”

“It was a long time ago, Dave.”

“But it’s part of you.”

“Yes. Just as your past is part of you.”

“Do you miss it?”

“I won’t apologize for it.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you miss it.”

More tears came to her eyes. She was not going to lie again, not after she had gone through so much to tell the truth. “When you were in high school, you were into that theater group, right?”

“So?”

“You guys hung out and hooked up and smoked dope together. That’s what you told me.”

“I’m not sure I see the point,” Dave said.

“You miss that, don’t you? You wouldn’t go back. It’s a time that’s over and gone. Do I have to hate my past in order for you to accept me?”

Dave sat back as though startled. “You really think it’s the same thing?”

“How is it different?”

He rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. That’s what I need to process.” Dave tried to smile. “I think the lies were harder on us than you know. They gave us distance on some level. They had to. So it will be different now. But maybe it will be better.”

The phone on the nightstand jangled.

Dave frowned. “You weren’t supposed to be disturbed.”

Megan reached for the phone with her good arm. “Hello?”

“I heard you had a rough night.”

It was Detective Broome.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Have you turned on the television yet this morning?”

“No, why?”

“Carlton Flynn is dead. So are a bunch of other men. We found their bodies in a well near the old furnace.”

“What?” Megan managed to sit up this time. “I don’t understand. Stewart Green too?”

“Probably. They’re still going through the bodies.”

Talk about trying to process. “Wait, so someone murdered them all?”

“I’ll give you the details later, but right now I need your help.”

“How?”

“I know you’re in a lot of pain so if you can’t handle it-”

“What do you need, Detective?”